


Beyond Event Horizon

by RubyFiamma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greasers, Character Death, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, M/M, Outsiders Universe, Past Relationship(s), Piercings, Prostitution, Smoking, Social Gaps, Tattoos, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7542229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of his parents, Keith gave up his life to find their murderers. As the years pass, he's no closer to finding them but he finds solace in someone who shares his pain and realises there are more important things worth living for. Except nothing is ever picture perfect on their side of town and yet again Keith is faced with losing someone he loves. Now Keith is stuck in a constant loop and wants nothing more than to leave the memories of this town behind him but he can't seem to cross that line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I'd like for you to just stop here before you close the tab or continue reading. This is the second time I'm posting this fic. The first time I had posted it, someone sent me hate mail for 'oversexualising teenagers'. I'd like to make this clear. While there is an age difference between the characters, there will not be any sexual content containing minors in this fic. To give you an idea, Keith's current age is twenty-five while Lance's current age is seventeen soon to be eighteen. The age differences for each scenario will be explained in each scene so there won't ever have to be any doubt. 
> 
> Secondly, before I get sent any ship hate or flamed because of the settings or implications and conclusions you may come up with, let me reveal a few truths. Yes, Shiro and Keith at one point share an intimate relationship. Yes, Shiro dies. Yes, Keith isn't able to cope with it and yes, Lance is who Keith ends up with. This is not about me being a Klance shipper or a Sheith shipper because quite frankly I enjoy both ships, I plan on exploring both of those relationships in this fic and I reserve my right to be able to write freely for them without having to be subjected to hate. 
> 
> I realise this fic may be a little darker than what everyone's used to but I enjoy writing this type of fiction, adding grit and realism to situations and characters. However, I'm disappointed that I've had to do this. I've never had to explain my reasons for writing a fic before but I'd really like to post this so that I can share it with people who do want to read it. 
> 
> That being said, I hope all those that decided to stick around enjoy this.

**I**

* * *

 

Bixby’s limit ends on a long and winding dirt road in the middle of nowhere with nothing but dry desert plains and mountains that pierce the sky in the far distance. There's an ancient sign, weathered and rusted that cheerily bids you adieu yet Keith never leaves. His tires screech to a deafening halt, the smell of rubber burning against crumbling asphalt fills the stale and humid air and once again he finds himself gritting his teeth in disgust and frustration as he stares down the despicable sign.

There's a single crow that squawks loudly overhead, it's raspy call echoes through the barren land ahead. Keith takes off his helmet for a minute, the muffler of his bike still rumbling, and watches as the crow swoops in and perches on the edge of the sign. It cocks its head like it's mocking him, its beady eyes staring expectantly as if it's waiting for an answer.  

The wind picks up and ruffles his matted hair from the back of his neck;  it feels nice against his hot and itchy skin. He bites down on the corner his lip in contemplation, his teeth catching at the metal ring. All he has to do is ride past this damn sign. Just move his bike another inch, roll the tire across the invisible borderline he can never seem to pass. His gloved hands grip the handlebars and he revs the engine, the muffler sputters and purrs yet his foot trembles on the start pedal.

The crow doesn't budge despite the explosion of sound. Instead it squawks at Keith, taunting him as it spreads its feathers but doesn't take flight.

“Shut up!” he snaps over the sound, but the crow only shouts back at him. Jamming his helmet back onto his head, he spits air through his gritted teeth and turns the bike’s handlebars in the opposite direction. Keith slams down hard on the starting pedal and the engine roars to life. He takes one last look over his shoulder. The crow is still flapping it's wings and calling after him but once again he leaves the the sign in a cloud of dust, but never leaves the town.

 

* * *

It's dark by the time Keith arrives at one of the bars on the outskirts of town. There's also a gas station, diner, motel and truck stop on this single stretch of road. He doesn't sleep much but after he knocks back a few, he'll climb into a single bed where the sheets smell of sex and sweat and the walls are so thin he can hear a clock tick from the other side and hopefully he'll be too inebriated to dream.

There are many bikers parked outside the bar. Their boisterous laughter and raucous shouting has already started grating on Keith's nerves. He hasn't had much to drink yet and he doesn't want to leave. The sky is clear, an array of dazzling stars blanket it's dark backdrop; the moon a sliver of bone white yet it's bright enough to light the parking lot.

It's a good night to be lost, he thinks, and it's not in the directional sense. Keith brings the bottle up to his lips, the metal ring threaded through the corner of his lower lip clinks against the dark glass with the motion. He's just about to tip the bottle to take a swig when “ _Nice bike_ ,” nearly causes him to spill over himself.

Keith whips around in the direction of the voice to find a rather tall and lean looking boy. He wears a smug grin with his hands shoved in his pockets as he steps towards Keith and his motorcycle. It appears as if he's materialised out of thin air. There are no cars around, no bicycles or skateboards or other forms of transportation that Keith can see when his eyes dart around quickly before falling back to the boy.

He's dressed in neat, slim fitting jeans and shiny white brand name high tops. His shirt is brightly coloured with some pop culture logo pressed onto the front of it. Keith can already tell he's not from around here, the boy sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Where did you come from?” Keith asks with surprise, lowering the beer bottle to his side and attempting to cut the boy off before he makes it further into the parking lot.

“Oh,” he says with a grin, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. “I came from the north side of Bix--”

“I _know_ where you're from,” Keith growls, stopping in front of the boy. Now that he's closer he can see the boy's skin is darker than his and glows gold under the moonlight. “I mean, _what_ are you _doing_ here? You're a _soc_.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, narrowing his eyes. Keith can’t tell the colour from this distance but it's not like it matters anyway. “And you must be a greaser, an _outsider_. Makes us rivals, doesn't it?”

 _He's a fucking kid_. Keith snorts. “It makes you a dead man.”

“I'm Lance,” he says. His grin spreads wider, teeth straight and white. It makes Keith want to knock them out.

Keith ignores the introduction. “I'm going to ask you again, what are you doing here? Isn't it past your bedtime?”

“I was curious,” Lance says, easily peering over Keith's shoulder to eye the men behind him, “as to what goes on down here.”

“Haven't you heard enough horror stories, kid? Now go home before you end up being one of them.” Keith turns from him and takes a long chug of beer, the liquid already starting to warm with the balmy night air.  

“It’s nice that you're worried about my safety and all, but I'm seventeen and know how to take care of myself. Don't think I'd be able kick those guys’ asses over there?” Lance nods towards the cluster of bikers at the entrance of the bar. They're much more rowdier than they were a half hour ago.

Keith reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He takes his time opening it and pulling out a stick and then fitting it between his teeth while he searches his jeans pocket for a lighter. “No,” he says as he lights his cigarette, unclenches it from his teeth and purses it between his lips to take a drag. “I don't.”

“You greasers always think you're better than us even though we're of a higher social standing. Okay, I get it. It's a compensation thing, isn't it?”

“You can say whatever you want.” Keith shrugs on an exhale. “They're just titles. Just because you're a soc doesn't make you any less of an arrogant little shit. Doesn't stop any of _you_ thinking you're better than _us_."

“You cruisin’ for a bruisin’, old man?” the boy asks, raising a brow. He's infuriating Keith; he can't understand what this kid is doing in the south side of town or here, in the middle of nowhere, for that matter.

Keith rolls his eyes, pulls on his cigarette with more drama than necessary and finishes the last of his beer before saying, “Get lost, kid. Go home. I don't know how you got here but I promise you if you go looking for a fight you won't make it out.”

“Don't you fucking tell me what to do,” he says indignantly. “Better be careful, those dudes over there have been watching you talk to me for a while now. Wonder what they're thinking, you talking to a soc and all.”

Keith doesn't bother to take the kid's bait. Not this time. The motel isn't much farther down the road and right now he'd welcome the sound of mice scurrying in the walls if that meant he didn't have to listen to this shitty brat for a second longer. He sets his beer bottle down on the curb and flicks his cigarette across the pavement. It's only a few paces back to his bike and he's reaching out for his helmet before he even straddles the seat.

“Running away? I knew all that talk about you greasers had to be bullshit.” He laughs and it takes everything in Keith not to lose it.

With the keys in the ignition and his foot on the pedal, Keith revs up his bike, drawing the attention of the men at the entrance at the bar. He counts six of them. Before putting his helmet on, he turns to Lance and grinning, he says, “You sure you really wanna find out?”  


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is setting behind him, the warmth of its rays soaking into his shirt and causes his skin to tingle. He's sits on the back of a rickety bench in a condemned park, feet planted to the seat letting a cigarette burn between his fingers. 

Keith may be part of what the northern occupants of the town call  _ greasers _ , may even dress to fill the part. The more piercings and tattoos he has, the longer his hair and the darker his clothes then the better he fits in, the more likely people will stay away from him because he looks like trouble.

He does odd jobs for cash, usually mechanical work or picking up trash. Keith doesn't care, he needs the money for gas and other things so he'll take whatever he can get. There aren't many jobs here, the old-timers still run all the shops and bars. He'll never understand why there's such a large gap in classes, why they're segregated and forced to live in this shit town where you're either with them or against them but you can never beat them.

_ "We're not all cut from the same cloth,”  _ Keith remembers as he watches a gang of teenagers walking through the park.  _ No, some of us used to be good people. _

From this distance Keith can see the house he grew up in. The second one, that is. The only one that really matters, the only one that brings back such a mix of emotion that Keith isn't usually sure what to do with himself after reminiscing.

It all starts with this.

Keith meets Takashi Shirogane when he’s six years old. The boy is eleven and works with his father at the town’s only gas station at the time.

“ _ Call me Shiro _ ”, he says with a smile when they’re introduced by their parents. He learns that it means ‘white’ in Japanese which is ironic because Shiro has dark hair but there’s a thick streak of white that hangs lopsided over his forehead. Keith later learns it’s called a Mallen Streak and comes from a condition called Poliosis but at that moment he wonders if his white hair is the reason for the nickname, or is it just a shortening of his last name. Either way,  _ Shiro  _ rolls comfortably off Keith’s tongue.

Their relationship is never anything more than acquaintances. Keith never sees the boy outside of the gas station and it’s rare that he’s with his parents when they go. During this time, Keith is too preoccupied with trying to make himself great; wanting to make his parents proud -- even at that age. His parents are rarely home; they work two jobs just to keep the house and car and keep food on the table. They do it so that Keith is able to have more than what they had. They do it so that Keith learns how to be determined and motivated so that maybe one day he’ll be able to leave this caste and he’ll always respect that about them.

He'll never forget the night that changed his life.

Already thirteen and starting high school, Keith's parents had taken him out to celebrate. Their fear had been that he'd get picked on for being the youngest in his grade but the truth was no one in South Evanhurst ever really made it to high school. Kids dropped out when they were old enough to get a job, either because parents demanded it or they were sick and tired of living off bread and water. Some of them just dropped out because they didn't care, their parents didn't care. Because everyone knows no matter what you do, there's no way out.

Later that evening, his parents stop to get gas and Keith follows them inside to get a pack of gum. Apple-mint was his favourite. Takashi -- Shiro, rather, still works there. He’s eighteen now and Keith has come to admire the man's work ethic. He catches himself thinking if Shiro ever had the opportunities he had, if Shiro ever got to go to school and what his life was like. It wasn’t something he often thought about, but he didn’t know much about Shiro and his father at all despite it being a small town and that only made Keith more curious. He catches himself thinking sometimes that Shiro would have been something great.

Shiro’s father is there behind the counter, now much older in his years. He sits on a stool by the cash register smoking a pipe, nothing unusual. Shiro smiles at Keith's parents as they make their way into the store. He’s stocking some sort of display in the front window. Keith remembers offering a short wave of acknowledgement as he headed to the gum section. His back is turned to the shop’s front windows when Keith hears the door chime announcing a new customer arrival but he doesn't bother to turn around. He wonders sometimes what would have happened differently if he had.

The first alarm goes off in his head when he hears Mr. Shirogane shout from the counter, which instinctively draws Keith's attention to his parents, who are there paying for their gas. When his eyes fall on all three of the adults, their faces twisted in terror, he sees they are looking toward the front of the store. Within a fraction of a second, Keith is whirling around in time to see two men at the entrance; one with a shotgun and the other wields a knife. Shiro blocks their path and attempts to stop them from entering but despite his bulk, it isn't enough to stop him from crumpling easy to floor when he's hit in the head by the butt of the shotgun.

Everything happens so fast afterwards that still to this day Keith isn't sure of the actual order of events. He remembers it was Shiro's father who was shot first. The bellowing crack of the gun firing sends him to the floor in a panic. The tile is cold beneath him. This is where he lays in terror, his hands covering his eyes from the resonating boom of the gun. He watches the scene as if it were playing out in slow motion. Mr. Shirogane’s blood spurts from the wound and splatters his mother, sullying her beautiful pale skin and powder pink dress. He remembers his father suddenly grabbing his mother's arm as she screams, and yanking her behind him before getting shot himself. His body bucks as it’s hit with more than one bullet and he’s falling so slowly and then he hits the floor with a loud thud right at his mother’s shiny heeled pumps. Keith can’t get the image of the light fading from his father’s dark eyes even when he closes his own.

His mother gets a single shot to the abdomen and goes down. He hears her crying she’s sorry, he hears her call his name and then he hears nothing. She never looks in his direction but somewhere in the back of his mind he knows she did it hoping to not alert the robbers of Keith’s presence. Somewhere in the back of Keith’s mind, he wishes he hadn’t remained hiding, that he had at least gotten to give his mother a kiss and say goodbye. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wishes he had gotten to go with them.

Keith watches in silence as they fill their duffel bags with money from the register, packs of cigarettes and bottles of beer. He’s trying so hard not to cry but the pressure building in his lungs is starting to hurt and the pool of his parents’ blood starts spreading towards him. He regrets making a sound; a wet, sobbing hiccup that draws the men’s attention as they’re about to leave the store. Keith would have been safe, he would have gone unnoticed. Shiro wouldn’t have almost died.

The one with the knife doubles back and shouts to his partner that Keith is still alive. His partner shouts that he shouldn’t care, everyone else is dead and Keith hasn’t seen their faces.

Except Shiro isn’t dead. And as if on cue, he tries to be the hero and tackles the man with the knife. The partner with the shotgun is already long gone and Keith sometimes has nightmares of versions where he isn’t.

Shiro manages to pin the the robber down, they slide through the pool of blood; the heels of their shoes screech against the linoleum and their skin sticks and un-sticks to the floor with sickly wet and sloppy sounds as they struggle. Keith tries to be brave too, when for a moment he has hope because he isn’t the only one alone and he isn’t going to die. He stupidly yells for them to stop but it only makes Shiro turn to him, losing the upper hand. The robber slashes him in the face and Keith watches as Shiro’s blood sprays the clear freezer doors.

He shouts the older boy's name as Shiro's hands fly up to stop the bleeding and with that the robber wriggles free. He slips in the blood and crashes through the glass but he doesn't allow it to stop him. The robber just tuck and rolls until he scurries into a run, his wet soles smacking across the pavement, leaving Keith and Shiro alone in the store.

It’s a loud holler and what sounds like a gunshot that brings Keith back to the present. He ends up jumping off the bench in surprise and that’s when he realises he’s let the cigarette he had been smoking burn the skin between his fingers.

He scans the park nervously but as it turns out it’s just the same group of teenagers setting off firecrackers and being rowdy. He pauses for a minute, waits for his heart rate and breathing to go back to normal. It’s just some stupid kids. Suddenly he doesn’t feel very well and his head is swimming. Keith knows he should go back to the motel and rest, but there isn’t anyway he could with his mind the way it is right now. He’ll only see nightmares when he closes his eyes, images from a past he’d prefer stay forgotten.

Sighing, Keith rounds the bench to where is bike is parked and starts the engine. He catches sight of the sun falling behind the roof of the old house, throwing it into this strange, ethereal glow despite it’s peeling yellow paint and flaking shingles, rotted front porch and a broken picket fence. Not so long ago, it was alive with smoke coming out of its now crumbling chimney, warm and welcoming lights glowing in the windows and Shiro’s laughter floating through the house. It was once home to two lost orphans who had found strength and a reason to live in each other.

The only things that live there now are ghosts. 


End file.
